The New Order
by Hawki
Summary: The Confederacy has fallen, leaving a power vacuum in the Koprulu Sector, one that Arcturus Mengsk intends to fill. Meanwhile, Jim Raynor finds himself head of his own band of rebels. As a new empire rises from the ashes, what will the future hold?
1. Deliberations

_A/N_

_Well, this story went up a little early. But with Blizzard's writing contest having a limit of 10,000 words, this was my best bet at writing a story for a Blizzard franchise with a plot that could fit into such a short length. I had to cut stuff out and compress character development, but hopefully I can finish it in time and get some feedback in the meantime. Just asking. :)_

* * *

**StarCraft: The New Order**

**Chapter 1: Deliberations**

_Misconceptions are common these days._

That, the marshal knew, was a galaxy-sized understatement. An understatement compressed into the _Leviathan_-class battlecruiser _Thunder Child _and personified by the ship's bridge. A bridge that only held four individuals, three of them exhausted and one of them with the burden of leadership. A burden that stemmed from the misconception that only a few of his men would follow him in his breakaway from the Sons of Korhal, rather than the 300 strong army he found himself the head of. A mixture of personalities and former allegiances, their only common ground being their knowledge that Mengsk had gone too far at Tarsonis and were willing to put their faith in a new man instead. Were willing to put their _lives_ in his hands...

James Raynor sighed. Fate had a twisted sense of humour.

"So...enjoying the view?"

"No...I'm not," the marshal answered, not turning from the bridge's plasteel windows that gave a view into the Tarsonis System.

"Then why keep staring?"

Raynor remained silent. Commander Alexander Granger had been sedate the past few hours, exhausted after all that had occurred on and around Tarsonis and he wasn't about to criticize the former magistrate of Mar Sara for any break out of that entropy. But right now he wanted to keep contact down to a minimum. He'd practically dragged the magistrate with him after New Gettysburg, plunging head first to destroy the ion cannon. Had he ever thought that this might not have been what he wanted?

_Did you even think at all?_

Raynor ran his hand through his hair. This was going from bad to worse.

Of course, things had been going down over the past seven months anyway. One minute, James "Jim" Raynor had been a marshal in the colonial militia of the Fringe World of Mar Sara, willing to uphold the law, lend a hand to those who needed it and be content to be ignored by the Terran Confederacy. Suddenly, that oppressive government which he so despised ordered that the planet's citizens be escorted to concentration points for supposed evacuation, courtesy of humanity being caught up in a war between two alien species. A war that saw Mar Sara follow the same fate as its sister planet of Chau Sara, Raynor and his men arrested for doing their jobs and with the aid of UNN reporter Michael Liberty, wind up in the rebel/terrorist organization known as the Sons of Korhal.

Perhaps he'd known...perhaps he knew that Arcturus Mengsk, formerly loyal to the Confederacy like his new captain, would become the very evil he'd been fighting against. Perhaps he knew that even after six months of hell on Antiga Prime, the worst was yet to come. He'd agreed with Mengsk that the Confederacy needed to be disbanded, that a new government was needed if humanity was to endure the baptism of fire the zerg and protoss brought to every planet they graced with their presence. But planting psi emitters on Tarsonis, acting as the Hand of God and ending the lives of millions, all for a cause that supposedly involved saving humanity...it was too much. He couldn't save Mar Sara or Antiga Prime. He couldn't save Tarsonis. He couldn't even save Kerrigan...but dammit, he wasn't about to become expendable or a monster so he'd cut and run. He'd run and until now, hours later, he'd never looked back.

_And why's that? The horror on Tarsonis? Or is it because you can't?_

Raynor didn't know and the newly opened can of _Happy Jack's Ale_ wasn't helping matters. He hadn't foreseen Mengsk's true colours, but he could dwell in guilt later. Right now he had to deal with another example of poor planning or rather the lack of it. He hadn't planned for leading an army that only had a single battlecruiser that should have been decommissioned decades ago along with a few shuttles and dropships for transport. The bridge might have been devoid of life, but he'd seen the conditions throughout the rest of the ship. Space wasn't exactly lacking, but living quarters and storage were insufficient to meet long term needs. If this new band of...well, whatever they were was to survive, they needed new ships. And fast.

_But how? We can't steal ships from Mengsk and it's not as if there's any ships lying around for us to-..._

"Sir, we've reached the edge of the Tarsonis System."

The former marshal walked over to the pilot's chair, leaning over the shoulder of perhaps the only one on the bridge who was able to put a smile on things. Lieutenant Matt Horner-late teens, black hair, brown eyes and enough enthusiasm to sink a battleship.

"Anyone follow us?" Raynor asked.

"Not that I can see," the pilot answered. "There's no sign of pursuit from Mengsk and the protoss and zerg are too busy killing each other to worry about anyone leaving the system."

_And killing anyone stupid enough to get between them, _Raynor thought to himself. He stopped that train of thought quickly however. Caught between the protoss and zerg...just like at New Gettysburg...

He looked at Matt. The boy at joined the SOK to "make a difference" but had switched allegiance alongside the former marshal. And while he'd proved himself to be an excellent pilot, his enthusiasm that bordered on hero-worship made Raynor uneasy. He didn't feel like a hero and didn't want to be. Mengsk had claimed to be a hero, a champion of the common man, but had ended that facade when it was too late for the common man to realize the truth. Still, while he wanted to get away from the bastard, he had no idea how to fly a battlecruiser, so would have to put up with Horner's presence for now. And ordering that he set a course for the deep space platform _Jefferson_, he could take some solace that while there was no telling when Mengsk might come after him, he wouldn't die through some horrible accident in warp space. The lieutenant was too good of a pilot for that. Heading over to the fourth person on the bridge, Michael Liberty, to let him know the travel time to his intended drop-off point, Raynor hoped he could be just as good a leader.

_Probably not._

* * *

General Edmund Duke...an idiot if there ever was one.

If someone had told Arcturus Mengsk this, he would have at best politely agreed and at worst berated them for telling something he already knew. He'd known Duke was far from a flawless commander since 2485 during their battle together at Onuru Sigma and had suspected as such before that. And now, fifteen years later, after Duke had proven himself to be a valuable asset in planting the final nail in the coffin of the Confederacy, the general had reverted to Mengsk's first impression.

Mengsk irritably paced around the bridge of the _Hyperion_, the _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser leading the Sons of Korhal fleet away from Tarsonis. Things could have been worse, the protoss or zerg coming after them for instance, but from the outset, the final strike against the Confederacy had been plagued by hiccups. The psi emitters had lured more than enough zerg to shatter his enemy's final bastion of power, but with the protoss arriving far sooner than expected and choosing to engage the zerg directly rather than reducing Tarsonis to a molten wasteland, there had been the chance that elements of the Confederate government, not to mention the Old Families, might escape. Thanks to his late lieutenant, Sarah Kerrigan, they hadn't. But her sacrifice had sent his usually reliable captain Jim Raynor over the edge and had the audacity to take an entire army with him.

_And it should have ended there, _thought the rebel bitterly. _If not for that idiot._

Had Duke done his job properly, Raynor and his men would have been eliminated, either through the might of Alpha Squadron or destroyed by Tarsonis' ion cannon. But with the Mar Saran outmanoeuvring the former and destroying the latter, Mengsk had lost a significant amount of pride and if he hadn't kept his rage in check when Duke reported his failure, he might have lost his general as well.

_Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad._

Sighing, Mengsk lay back in his command chair, running a rough hand through his salt-and-pepper beard as he gazed out into the void of space. It was funny really, how the destruction of the Terran Confederacy had made him feel...empty. He'd done the right thing, had done the right thing over the past eleven years. The Confederacy was responsible for the deaths of his family, the destruction of his homeworld and, somewhat conveniently, hundreds of other atrocities that provided fuel for his propaganda. But with that goal achieved...what now?

In truth, he already knew. Like his father, Angus Mengsk, Arcturus had come to realize that the Confederacy had to be dismantled. However, unlike Angus' dreams for a more democratic form of government, Arcturus knew that such a thing would only lead to the same corruption and decay that had gripped the Council and Senate. In this new power vacuum, a government would have to be swift and dynamic, ruled by an individual to match. And as he had known for years, that individual would be himself. Vainglorious perhaps, but after all he'd seen and done, after all he'd lost, he deserved it.

_And for that, _thought the future ruler of the Koprulu Sector as he rose from his chair, _preparations must be made_.

It wouldn't be easy. Moria and Umoja would welcome the downfall of their Tarsonian counterpart, but would not be as reciprocal to an infamous terrorist taking its place. And while the protoss and zerg had indirectly served him in this task as per their apparent fanatical hatred for each other, there was still the very real risk of humanity still being caught in the crossfire. However, if the SOK moved quickly...

"Duke, get up here," murmured the general into his comm. unit.

"Pardon?" Duke queried. "What's on your mind boy?"

Mengsk sighed. Even now Duke was liable to forget his place. Annoying, but all the more reason for the future ruler of Koprulu to keep the leader of Alpha Squadron under his eye.

"Quite a lot is on my mind Edmund but I won't bore you with that. For now, I'm sending the fleet to Korhal to finish rebuilding Augustgrad. The _Hyperion _however, will be heading to Umoja."

"Umoja? What about Raynor? We're just going to-..."

Mengsk shut him off.

He wouldn't admit it, but Duke perhaps had a point about Raynor. Despite the size of the captain's army, he apparently had no intention of taking the fight to the SOK, having headed for the outskirts of the Tarsonis System as soon as the ion cannon was destroyed. However, Raynor had proved how volatile he could be after Kerrigan's downfall at New Gettysburg and Mengsk had originally been written off by the Confederacy, only to prove himself a thorn in their side with the Tarsonis Ghost Academy and numerous installations after it. Over time, there was the very real risk that Raynor could repeat history.

Then again, while useful, neither Kerrigan nor Raynor had vision. Both were pawns and extremely useful ones at that, but neither had any aspirations to cross the board to become queens. And although losing both of them was regrettable, they were not in-expendable. Mengsk had lost many pawns over the years. But he, the black sheep and now king of the Mengsk Dynasty, stood unscathed while in contrast, the white king of the Confederacy had been toppled and its guardian pieces swept off the board. A board that would be Mengsk's own...

...and woe betide anyone who stood in his way.


	2. Drop Off

**StarCraft: The New Order**

**Chapter 2: Drop Off**

Edmund Duke hated Moria.

Not exactly the most unexpected statement in the world. One look at the man, standing on the bridge of the _Hyperion _in a command suit as he ground his teeth together indicated that the scion of the Duke Family hadn't exactly been raised in the spirit of meadows and butterflies. He'd spent four years fighting the Kel-Morian Combine officially and many more years unofficially, and like all his enemies, there was much bad blood between them.

"Sir, General Mengsk's shuttle is en route to the _Khan_," said Lieutenant Tomiko. "No unexpected activity."

Duke grunted by way of answer. The Morians had more tricks up their sleeves than a rhynadon's droppings and smelt just as bad as well. The Guild Wars had steadily turned against the KMC and towards the end of it, were willing to use every trick in the book to try and scrape victory from the jaws of defeat before agreeing to the Confederacy's armestice turns.

Would they have bothered, knowing their enemy would be destroyed by invading aliens eleven years later? Perhaps, but Duke wasn't inclined to reflect on that. He had more important things to do.

_Like playing the waiting game, _thought the general bitterly, staring at Moria's primary space platform, the one where Mengsk was set to meet with delegates and discuss terms of a unified goverment, or at least an alliance between Moria and the empire the rebel intended to build. Duke wasn't sure of his superior's chances, but he'd apparantly secured Umoja's immediate support. Then again, Umoja had supported Korhal's revolt against the Confederacy for decades, mainly through the efforts of Ambassador Ailin Pasteur. He and Mengsk didn't seem to be on very good terms, but had been willing to work towards the end of the regime which they both despised. Moria was entirely unknown territory.

_And Arcturus is welcome to it, _thought the general, pacing around the bridge like a wolf stuck in a cage, searching for flaws in the crew. Not that there were many, having replaced the SOK ammetuers with his own officers from Alpha Squadron. "First in, first out" was their motto and with any luck, Mengsk's delegation to Moria would conform to that. The sooner he got off this ship and back into the fight, the better, not to mention-..."

"Sir...may I ask you something?"

Duke stopped pacing, his gaze switching back to Tomiko, glancing at him nervously from his post.

"You just did," the general murmured. "But feel free to waste my time and ask something else."

Technically it wouldn't be wasting time given the lack of activity in Moria's star system, but Duke wanted to keep his authority. And the best way to do that was to keep his officers in their place, making any queeries they had short and to the point.

He functioned so much better when the human element was removed...

"Sir...why are we here?" the young man asked, his voice betraying an unease that stemmed from more than just addressing a superior. "Not just with Moria, but with Mengsk. I mean, we've been trying to stamp out the Sons of Korhal since 2491 and now we're their allies."

Duke grunted. "You were there on _Norad II _lieutenant. Would it have been better if we fell to the zerg?"

"Well, no sir but-..."

"But _nothing_. The way things are going, Mengsk is set to be in a position of power in the near future lieutenant. And trust me, if we don't fit into this new vision of his, he'll sweep us aside just like the Confederacy."

"And we haven't been swept aside now?" Tomiko asked increduously, his confidence having increased dramatically. "Why are we hanging around on diplomatic missions when we should be back in action? Hell, the zerg and protoss are still out there, not to mention Raynor's merry band and-..."

Duke slammed his fist down. Tomiko stopped. So did the rest of the bridge crew for that matter.

"Don't mention that slike's name in my presence again," the general hissed. _"Ever."_

Given that the lieutenant quickly returned to his post, it was clear that he wouldn't.

Duke returned to grinding his teeth. Raynor...dammit, the man made him sick. It was bad enough that the man was a fringe squib, but his self-rightous streak that made him believe he was above everyone else was even worse. Bad enough that the marshal had escaped him at Tarsonis, but Mengsk hadn't even let Duke go after him. Destroying the ion cannon was one thing, but standing against the full might of the Sons of Korhal and Alpha Squadron was another. But no, with Mengsk determined to keep his new second-in-command on a leash, Raynor had been allowed to escape. For now at least...

Duke knew what he had to do. He'd play Mengsk's game. He'd toe the line, assure his new master of his allegiance and sooner or later, would be back in the fight. And then..._then_, he'd be able to do what should have been done at Tarsonis. Hunt down that slike, retrieve the Alphas that had defected with him and put them through neural resocialization, kill the rest and...

...well, he had time to think of an appropriate manner to gain vengeance against his nemesis. All the time in the world...

* * *

_Jefferson _was a dump.

A dump with ships of equal 'quality.'

What made the situation really grim however, was the knowledge that the ships docked at the space platform, all of them ranging from "crap" to "how the hell is this thing still flying and not venting oxygen?" had carried people. And unless the Confederacy had broken its usual modus operundi, those people were still there.

Michael Daniel Liberty suspected that was the case.

"Oh my god..." murmured Sanchez, the pilot of the shuttle that was taking Liberty and Raynor to an avaliable hanger. "How did this happen?"

"Alien invaders and indifference," murmured Raynor. "That's all it takes."

Mike silently agreed with him. As much as he wanted to express surprise, there was no surprise to express. He'd covered news events for Universe News Network for years and seeing the neglect of a deep space platform formerly operated by the Confederacy was hardly unusual in his experience. He'd become used to it in the same way he'd become used to the strange dreams he'd been having over the last week.

Aliens were another matter however...

Mike averted his gaze from the space platform, wishing that this wasn't a non-smoking flight. He knew this was coming. Perhaps he'd known ever since Mar Sara. With the zerg and protoss knocking out terran worlds like a line of dominos, the inhabitants of those planets, provided they weren't torn apart or vapourized, had to go somewhere. And with the Confederacy facing the prospect of its remaining worlds being overrun by terrified refugees in addition to alien and insurgent activity, it had probably seemed to be the logical choice to the Council to dump their people in the most conveniant places possible rather than taking them in on their remaining worlds.

Then again, maybe that was for the best. The fewer people that were on Tarsonis a week ago, the better...

Whatever the case, Mike knew that the _Jefferson _had to be his port of call. He was a reporter, and despite his work for Mengsk over the past few months, was still oblidged to deliver the truth. Because with Mengsk content to write off the population of an entire world to defeat his enemies and with Handy Anderson in the terrorist's pocket, Mike suspected the truth would be hard to come by these days. _Someone _had to speak for these people here. And with Raynor having thankfully ignored Granger's suggestion of raiding the platform for the supplies and ships his rebel army needed, Mike knew that he was perhaps the only one who could deliver their story.

_Now if only I could have a smoke..._

"What's on your mind Michael?"

The reporter turned, meeting Raynor's gaze. "Pardon?"

"Wondering what's on your mind," the former marshal repeated. "Looks like you're a mile away."

Mike laughed bitterly. "A few light years actually. Back at Tarsonis..."

Given the look on his friend's face, it was obvious that Raynor was too. Problem was, unlike Mike, he seemed to have more trouble moving on. Unlike his reporter counterpart, Raynor was clearly at a crossroads. Where once he had been deciscive, able to make decisions in seconds, he seemed...lost. A man without purpose...

And maybe that's what he was. Mike knew his calling and despite his unease at leaving his friend, knew it to be the right one. But Raynor had followed causes ever since he was a teenager and had always been shoved aside by reality. He'd warned Raynor about following causes back on Antiga Prime and maybe he'd taken the lesson to heart. But after being betrayed by Mengsk, after New Gettysburg...damn, Raynor had changed. And not for the better...

"We've docked," said Sanchez, slowing Mike's train of thought. "Don't expect a deck crew though. They're running around like chickens without heads apparantly."

"And the space platform's command hasn't rectified that?" Raynor asked.

The pilot shrugged. "Their goverment was just wiped out. They probably have bigger things to worry about."

Mike silently agreed. Funny really, how the space platform's population wanted out, and here he was, a lone reporter, who wanted in. Then again, the universe had been working in strange ways recently...

"Well, I guess this is it," said Raynor. He turned to the reporter. "Good luck Mike."

"Yeah..." Liberty murmured, wondering why Raynor was wishing him luck when it should be the other way round. But descending off the shuttle into the derelict hanger, the reporter realized that perhaps luck wasn't what Raynor needed. Perhaps it was something else..."

"Jim..." said the journalist, looking back up at the shuttle hatch to where the captain was standing. "You remember what I told you on Antiga Prime? How following causes would only break your heart?"

"Yeah..." said the former marshal. "I remember. You were right, by the way."

"Perhaps I was. But right now Jim, I think it's best to forget that."

"What?"

"Find something to believe in Jim," said Mike firmly. "I won't try to stop you from fighting Mengsk. But right now, ideology is the key difference between you two and I think you should hold onto that."

Raynor snorted. "Sure Mike. And what should I bare against reality?"

Mike shrugged. He knew the answer. He knew what path Raynor would follow in the end...

...but if Raynor and those who followed him were to survive, he'd have to find it himself.


	3. Preperations

**StarCraft: The New Order**

**Chapter 3: Preperations**

"Sir...do you think this planet will ever be ours again?"

It was a simple question but one that First Sergeant Gui Montag wasn't particuarly interested in answering. He'd got used to such questions of course-such was the consequence of saddling up with the few soldiers in Omega Squadron who hadn't undergone neural resocialization. But leading his ragtag force through Tarsonis' jungles, heading north to what remained of Tarsonis City, answering moronic questions wasn't on his list of priorities.

"Sir? Do you think that-..."

"I heard you the first time," the firebat grunted, pulling a vine aside to let the more sane members of Omega pass through the jungle path. "And to answer your question, I don't think Tarsonis belongs to anyone right now."

Despite his armor's cooling systems, Private Chandra was visibly sweating, her forehead slick with fluid. Or maybe the cooling systems were malfunctioning. After all that had occurred over the last few weeks, Montag wouldn't have been surprised.

Either way, he couldn't care less.

Dropping the vine and making his way to the head of the column, Montag knew that sooner or later he'd have to come to terms with his current position. Gone were the days when he was just a cog in the Confederacy's war machine, the time where he was a corporal crushing an uprising on Tal Qirat. The Great War had begun and Tarsonis, once the brightest, most secure planet in the universe, had become a battlefield for alien species enacting some kind of genocidal war, uncaring of how many terrans were killed in the process.

_Still, can't really hate them for it. The Confederacy was equally willing to sacrifice its own._

Montag grimaced at that thought. He'd never really given much thought to the Confederacy's modus operundi and having enlisted in Omega Squadron on some whim in what seemed like another life entirely, he hadn't really been around the people who'd be willing to discuss the failings of the goverment they served. But with the Confederacy steadily losing ground to the zerg and protoss, an agressive enlistment campaign had begun, one that Montag realized had been quite effective given the lower number of resocs he'd been saddled up with when the 28th had been sent into the jungles to nip a zerg landing zone in the bud when the invasion had begun, only to realize firsthand how quickly the xenomorphs could set up their hive structures and how the Confederacy's own included its elite Squadrons. The attack was a failure and retreating back into the jungle while the Confederacy buckled under the limitless number of alien invaders, the "Death Heads" as they were called were looking at the Reaper's scythe rather than holding it themselves.

"Wonderful."

"Pardon?"

Montag blinked, coming face to face with Corporal Sevchenko, his pale skin reflected on the marine's visor.

"Nothing..." Montag murmured, wondering whether if he was any more sane than the resocs who'd died at the hands of the zerg when they'd come to finish the job of wiping their enemies out. "Nothing to worry about."

Sev chuckled. "Oh sure, there's nothing to worry about. Only that we're stranded in the middle of nowhere and have the zerg on our arses. Oh no, nothing to worry about at all."

Montag grimaced. Sevchenko, or "Sev" as he was usually called was usually reliable, but pesimism wasn't something he needed right now. Insubordination perhaps-the fewer people who followed him the better, but not pessimism. He was having enough trouble keeping his own sense of dread at bay.

"I think you can cancel a few of your worries," murmured Montag, using his flamethrower to clear a path through the undergrowth. "The zerg among them."

"What? But they-..."

"Sev, in case you haven't noticed, we haven't seen a zerg in days. And if reports from what's left of New Gettysburg are to be believed, they seem to have left the planet.

"And you believe those reports?"

Sighing, Montag took a sip of water from his hip flask, draining the group's precious supply of the livegiving liquid that wasn't tainted with radiation from the Confederacy's nuclear weapons or the crashed protoss ships. Their suits could keep background radiation at bay, but the human system itself could only do so much.

"Yes, I believe them," the first sergeant murmured. "And even if the zerg were still here, I doubt they'd follow us. They seemed more interested in protecting that...chrysalis thing."

"I guess..." Sev said eventually. "You think that's why they attacked us? Because we got too close or something?"

Montag shrugged. He hadn't been among the field scouts that reported the strange organic chrysalis the zerg were guarding south of their position, the same zerg that had promptly decended on them soon after the discovery. There'd been little time to think about any ulterior motive the zerg might have for attacking the humans when your comrades were dying all around you but now, a week later, Montag had the time to do what the resocs couldn't and think. And as strange as it seemed, it truely appeared that the zerg attack was part of "aggressive defence" rather than their usual base desire of killing any terran they came across.

Still, it didn't matter. Omega Squadron had lived up to its name in that battle, but Montag had realized it was a lost cause and flight was better than being torn apart by invading aliens. Problem was, many other recruits had come to the same conclusion and had decided that banding together was preferable to striking through the jungle alone. And like it or not, the first sergeant had found himself leading a band of newbie recruits, mostly in their teens, to Tarsonis City in the hope of finding some transport off the ruined world. A long road to be sure, but their only hope for survival.

Or not, given the heavy lander hovering above the trees...

* * *

"Wow Jim, you look like shit."

The sleep-deprived captain didn't answer as he made his way across the _Thunder Child_'s bridge, eventually collapsing into the commander's chair. Either he hadn't heard Alexander Granger's remarks, was too tired to respond or simply couldn't be bothered. Either way, the former magistrate of Mar Sara didn't care. There weren't many things he cared about these days...

"This can't go on," said Raynor eventually, his eyes closed and his posture not fitting the intended one for the commander of a battlecruiser.

"What can't?"

"_This,_" said the former marshal forcefully, as if assuming that Granger was a telepath. "Hundreds of people grouped together on a ship that's falling apart and running low on supplies while Mengsk sets up his new empire."

"Well, you're the captain Jim. It's up to you."

Granger's tone was formal, but the venom in it was still evident. At least he hoped it was. He wasn't in the mood to be cordial with his 'friend' right now.

Silently, the commander made his way to the windows, marvalling at his ever graying hair, the void of space and the miracle that said windows hadn't given way yet. The _Jefferson _might have been a dump but there were plenty of materials Raynor's army could have used to fix their single ship or even take new ships for themselves. But no, the former marshal had to play the role of "holier than thou" and refuse to take without giving. Not that there was anything on the ship worth giving of course...

_I guess that's admirable in a way_, thought the commander grudgingly. _But naievity isn't going to get us any further than some idiotic crusade against Mengsk. What the hell is he thinking?_

Granger didn't know. Mengsk's actions at Tarsonis had caught him off-guard in much the same way as everyone else and giving the rebel's weakness to screw over his second-in-command, Granger would have left as soon as he got the opportunity. But oh no, Jimmy had to rant at Mengsk and fight his way through Duke and destroy the ion cannon before leaving the system, all part of some misguided notion of fighting the good fight. But now, a week later, that fight hadn't even begun. Raynor was still drifting in space doing nothing and Granger doubted he wanted to fight Mengsk anyway. The man might have been a manipulator, but humanity as a whole was capable of equally heinious acts. It was inevitable that the worst traits of Man would win out, so why bother fighting against them, especially in the midst of alien invasion?

As far as Granger was concerned, there was no point at all. So while he felt some loyalty to Raynor, a loyalty that stemmed all the way back to the beginning of the fight on Mar Sara, that loyalty didn't extend to following some misguided cause that would only get him killed.

"Alright...enough's enough," said the captain, rising from his chair. "Mengsk has got Umoja and Moria on his side and has played the good samaritan on Tarsonis. If we're going to strike against him, we have to do it now."

"Oh so now we're going to take action," sneered Granger, following the captain to the starmap. "Well, better late than never right?"

Raynor remained silent as he activated the starmap, a map of the Koprulu Sector being displayed. Entering a search parameter, most of the planets and star systems disapeared, leaving only-...

"Shipyards," said the captain. "We need ships and supplies and space platforms are the best place to get them."

Granger nodded, deciding to play along. "Not many places to choose from...I see Tarsonis is off the list. Couldn't we go back there? There should be some functional craft left from its fall, not to mention that its practically abandoned now."

"Perhaps, but Mengsk picked up some Omega Squadron troops there recently along with some other survivors. Since he's building a new empire, he'd probably stock up on technology while he was there."

"So where do we go then?"

Raynor remained silent and Granger couldn't blame him. There weren't that many space platforms left in the Koprulu Sector, courtesy of the zerg invasion and by virtue of their continued operation, the remaining ones would be well defended.

"The Dylarian Shipyards," answered Raynor eventually, pointing to the docks of the same name orbiting the desert world of Dylar IV. "They're closest to our position and-..."

"Are situated above a Core World of the Confederacy!" Granger exclaimed, unable to believe that Raynor would go after the most well fortified shipyard in Confederate space. "Are you mad?!"

Raynor chuckled. "Maybe...my dreams certainly suggest it."

"Dreams?" asked Granger curiously. "You mean like the ones Liberty had?"

Raynor remained silent and the commadner couldn't blame him. Strange dreams weren't something that you willingly admitted.

"Mike's gone," said Raynor, skirting over the subject as the starmap closed in on the shipyards. "But we have a different fight right now, and the start of that fight is getting transport. The Dylarian Shipyards are well defended, but they're shipyards that were meant to operate under the Confederacy. And with their masters consumed by the zerg, the defenders won't be able to function as well as they would otherwise or even identify us as an enemy. Besides, the planet was evacuated when the zerg attacked, so there won't be any innocents to get caught in the crossfire."

"I guess..." Granger murmured, silently both respecting and despising Raynor's morality. "But what about Mengsk? He's picking up the pieces of the Confederacy isn't he?"

"True," said the captain, his tone of voice making his dislike for Mengsk apparant. "But Dylar IV is near the edges of the sector. Mengsk might have jumped around Tarsonis, Moria and Umoja, but I doubt he'd make a sidetrip to Dylar IV without seizing control of other territories first. No, the Dylarian Shipyards are our best option and besides, you helped us out with the ion cannon."

Granger opened his mouth...and closed it. "Helped" wasn't the word he would have used. Oh sure, he helped coordinate Raynor's Rangers on the ion cannon insallation, but that was becuase the alternative was being blown out of the sky. And now, with Raynor completely oblivious to his reluctance to fight against Mengsk, he'd be drawn into yet another suicidal attack, planning a raid that he didn't even want to participate in.

_Well, it's not all bad. If I pull it off, I should be able to get some transport and go my own way before Raynor gets himself killed._

It was rather sad. 300 individuals followed Raynor, a mix of his Rangers and numerous others who'd yet to recieve any moniker would pit themselves in a fight for some delusional cause that stemmed from a belief of human decency and likely get themselves killed. Sad, but almost funny also...

...then again, Alexander Granger had lost his sense of humour long ago.


	4. Raynor's Raiders

**StarCraft: The New Order**

**Chapter 4: Raynor's Raiders**

Matt Horner had always liked the _Hyperion_. Oh sure, there were more powerful ships out there in the universe and faster ones as well. But having changed hands repeatedly, from the Confederacy to the Umojan Protectorate, from the Sons of Korhal to Raynor's rebel group, the battlecruiser had acquired a character of its own. And right now, sitting in the ship's pilot chair, the lieutenant felt as if he'd come home.

_Then again, _he thought as the makeshift fleet sped away from the Dylarian Shipyards, _home is what you make it I guess._

In a sense, that was the creed of Raynor's merry men, to use a term from some Old Earth story that escaped Horner's memory. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, though given that Mengsk had yet to officially declare his government, the analogy was somewhat flawed. They were taking the ships for themselves and no-one owned the Dylarian Shipyards, especially resocialized marines who were like chickens without heads now that their masters were gone. The ships had been ripe for the taking and luckily for the rebels, the Dominion had come to the same conclusion after them. And had been good enough to bring the _Hyperion _with them...

Matt smiled as the memory of the battle played out in his head. Half of Duke's fleet had been lured away by the _Thunderchild_, only to find upon its destruction that its crew had abandoned it and were instead among the shipyards, disabling or hijacking ships left, right and centre. With the inability to distinguish between such ships and denied the opportunity to carry out a scorched earth policy due to Mengsk wanting all the ships he could get his hands on, Duke had been forced to send his men into the shipyards proper, to gun the rebels down where they stood...

...only to have those rebels abandon the shipyards, hijack the defenceless _Hyperion _and head to another star system entirely. The so-called Terran Dominion had suffered its first defeat even before its official formation.

"Well...this looks cosy," came the voice of Jim Raynor, the door to the bridge sliding open simultaneously. "Guess Mengsk left his personal touch."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "A personal touch? What kind of touch could Mengsk leave on-..."

"Sarcasm Matt, _sarcasm_," said the captain, making his way to the viewport. "Get used to it."

The lieutenant remained silent. He respected Raynor greatly, but his demeanour was so different from the ruthless efficiency that Mengsk and Duke had called for in the SOK. Suffice to say, it would take some getting used to.

Still, Matt Horner had got used to a lot of things over the past few weeks. And abandoning a capital ship and leaving Duke tied up at the shipyards to wait for a tongue lashing from Mengsk were just a few of them.

"You can count on me sir," said Horner, his enthusiasm bubbling over as the _Hyperion _prepared to enter warp space. "You can count on all of the Raiders."

Raynor turned away from the viewport. "Raiders? What Raiders?"

"Raynor's Raiders sir," answered the pilot. "That's what the men have taken to calling our group. Based on your old Rangers unit, but with a new vibe or something. After all, raiding the shipyards was our baptism of fire."

Raynor sighed. "Matt, with Mengsk running things and having lost the _Hyperion_, the shipyards are going to look like a cold shower. And before you get ahead of yourself, keep in mind that we had Alex co-ordinating us back there. Next time we may not be so lucky."

Horner remained silent. Having seen Raynor leading his forces through the docks like some hero out of legend, allocating the raid's success to luck and/or Granger wouldn't have occurred to him. People made their own luck rather than having it handed to them on silver platters. And as for the Granger...

Taking the _Hyperion _into warp space, Horner found that the bitter taste in his mouth over the former magistrate of Mar Sara failed to remain in the Dylar System. He wasn't the first to leave the Raiders, such a distinction belonging to Michael Liberty back at the _Jefferson_. However, while he was able to sympathise with the former UNN reporter, wanting to fight the Dominion in his own way, Granger had simply taken a ship for himself and sped off into the depths of Koprulu, either unable to follow Raynor's cause or simply not interested. Sure, he'd helped them in the past, but now that his services were needed more than ever, why leave now? Why leave after the taste of success?

The lieutenant didn't know. But glancing up at Raynor, bathed in the purple light of the warp like some kind of avenging angel, he swore that he wouldn't let him down. He deserved better than that.

All of humanity did.

* * *

Nine years ago. Late 2491. One-thousand _Apocalypse_-class nuclear missiles had struck Korhal IV, ending millions of lives in an instant, turning the planet into a nuclear wasteland and giving rise to the rebel group that had toppled the Confederacy. What went around came around. And Augustgrad was no exception.

Looking out over the developing city from his soon-to-be palace, Arcturus Mengsk could barely recognize it as the city it had once been, the metropolis of Styrling. Whereas Korhal's former capital was a city of gleaming silver, reflecting the light of Korhal's star, Augustgrad was a realm of polished granite, absorbing sunlight rather than reflecting it. A restored virtue of Styrling perhaps, but a different one. A black monolith situated over a realm of shifting sands and ghosts of a lost age.

Arcturus considered it appropriate. The blood of the innocent had been spilt on that dark day and only recently had the Confederacy's blood been spilt in atonement. The loss of Korhal's spirit would never be forgotten, if only to serve as a reminder of the tyranny of the Confederacy, as a warning against those who would defy the new Terran Dominion. Named after Arcturus' grandfather, it would be a physical manifestation of the power and glory of the Mengsk Dynasty. A new empire, destined to last a thousand years. An empire governed by a single individual of immense power and wisdom, each in a line of succession.

A line that would begin with Arcturus himself...

"Mister Mengsk? We're ready to record your inauguration speech."

Turning away from the window, Arcturus walked across the floor of his throne room. Drab, just like the rest of the palace, but for an empire founded on war, the soon-to-be emperor considered it appropriate. Indeed, the only piece of decoration was a single flag, displaying the red fist of Korhal against a blue background. Well, technically there were two flags, but a tattered Confederate flag in the corner was for Arcturus' personal pleasure rather than any symbolic significance. The Confederacy was dead and buried. Unmourned by none except those who would soon be executed or forcibly converted.

Tough decisions were the price of leadership after all.

Giving a nod to his chief of propaganda, former UNN editor Handy Anderson, Arcturus knew there were exceptions to that group of opposition, individuals who opposed his rule but not due to any loyalty to the Confederacy. Indeed, the newly dubbed "Raynor's Raiders" were such an example, having cost Arcturus the _Hyperion _and by extension, some of his pride. Still, perhaps that was a boon. One more enemy to demonise in addition to the zerg and protoss couldn't be a bad thing.

_Oh Raynor, if only you knew... _thought the emperor. _If only you could comprehend your insignificance..._

A dangerous line of thinking perhaps. After all, the Sons of Korhal had arisen from nothing. But Raynor was different. He wasn't a leader. He was a tool, nothing more, one who had made himself defective by his own misguided ideology.

_And besides, _thought Arcturus. _I have my own ideology to promote._

He smiled at the cameras, his visage sincere. He had everything. Power, glory and a new future for humanity. And apart from the strange dreams he'd been having lately, nothing could take that away from him. Not the zerg, not the protoss, not Raynor, not _anyone_. He ruled this sector now. Now and forever.

_And now to let everyone know that... _Arcturus thought as he began his speech...

"Fellow terrans. I come to you in the wake of recent events to issue a call to reason. Let no human deny the perils of our time..."

* * *

_A/N_

_If there's a single reason I wish that time and length were on my hands for Blizzard's writing contest, it's this chapter. I'd originally intended on portraying the raid on the Dylarian Shipyards from start to finish. However, given time constraints and the elevated word count that would result, I chose to instead portray the end of the event rather than the event itself. Oh well. As of this time of writing, I guess I'll find out in a week's time whether it paid off._


	5. Ghosts of Koprulu

**

* * *

**

StarCraft: The New Order

**Chapter 5: Ghosts of Koprulu**

They're out there. Messages. Ghosts of radio transmissions drifting forever, wanders among a sea of stars, echoes of worlds and lives gone before. Sometimes they're detected. Sometimes they're not. Sometimes they're transcribed. Sometimes they're discarded. Sometimes they're lengthy, sometimes they're brief.

And sometimes they go like this...

**Coronation of Emperor Arcturus I, Emperor of the Terran Dominion**

**Terran Dominion Throne World Korhal**

_Fellow terrans. I come to you in the wake of recent events to issue a call to reason. Let no human deny the perils of our time..._

This is a message meant to be heard. Like most of them, it is sent to live and die among the stars, to live on in the minds of Men, to be recorded by human hands and technology. But some messages are not meant for this. Some recordings are far more personal. Recordings such as...

"Personal audio log of James Raynor, July 4th, 2500."

And thus the messages play...

* * *

_While we battle one another, divided by the petty strife of our common history, a tide of greater conflict is turning against us, threatening to destroy all that we have accomplished._

* * *

"I don't know why I'm doing this. Why I'm fighting Mengsk. The zerg are still out there with the protoss right behind them. What good will fighting fellow terrans do?"

* * *

_It is time for us __as nations and as individuals to set aside our long-standing feuds and unite. The tides of an unwinnable war are upon us, and we must seek refuge upon higher ground, lest we be swept away by the flood._

* * *

"Mengsk has the Koprulu Sector united with him as their ruler. I'm in the oddity. It doesn't matter whether they're truly loyal to Mengsk or not, all that matters is that they _are_. And in light of all that's happened, who can blame them?"

* * *

_The Confederacy is no more. Whatever semblance of unity and protection it once provided is a phantom, a memory. With our enemies left unchecked, who will you turn to for protection?_

* * *

"Protecting people...that's my mandate, or at least was back on Mar Sara. And right now, the Dominion represents the largest armed force in this sector. So if I go against it, doesn't that mean I go against my mandate?"

* * *

_The devastation wrought by the alien invaders is self-evident. We have seen our homes and communities destroyed by the calculated blows of the protoss. We have seen our friends and loved ones consumed by the nightmarish zerg. Unprecedented and unimaginable though they be, these are the signs of our time._

* * *

"And what's the greater evil anyway? Mengsk sparked genocide, but the zerg have done that many times over. And while the protoss don't seem to want us out, or at least Tassadar didn't back on Antiga Prime and Tarsonis, there's no guarantee he's the rule rather than the exception. So how much of a threat is the Dominion anyway?"

* * *

_The time has come my fellow terrans to rally to a new banner. _

* * *

"But then again, I asked myself that about the Confederacy."

* * *

_In unity lies strength; already many of the dissident factions have joined us._

* * *

"And I fought against it. Not because of a grudge, not because I owed Mengsk for saving me back on Mar Sara..."

* * *

_Out of the many we shall forge an indivisible whole, capitulating only to a single throne. And from that throne, I shall watch over you._

* * *

"I fought the Confederacy because it was the right thing to do. Because it was an empire governed by the few at the expense of the many. Because it was a regime founded on the blood of the innocent. It was something akin to the Dominion...something that can't last.

* * *

_From this day forward let no human make war upon any other human._

* * *

"Yes, I'll be fighting my fellow Man."

* * *

_Let no terran agency conspire against this new beginning._

* * *

"Yes, I'll be labelled as a terrorist."

* * *

_And let no man consort with alien powers._

* * *

Yes, I know I'm not a leader.

* * *

_And to all the enemies of humanity, seek not to bar our way._

* * *

"But I have to do what's right. I have to put humanity before myself. I have to do what Mengsk refused to do."

* * *

_For we shall win through, no matter the cost!_

* * *

"And if I do that...I can live with myself. I can keep my dreams at bay..."

* * *

These are the messages of humanity.

These are the ghosts of Koprulu.

These are the signals which stand in contrast to others. Others such as a telepathic message originating from Char. A message which goes like this...

"Jim...Jim..."

Such are the words of Sarah Kerrigan...

**The End**


End file.
